My Side of the Story Frollo style!
by MoonageDaydream23
Summary: You guys know those My Side of the Story books? Well, I wrote one for Frollo, except it actually... GASP... makes SENSE! Frollo/Esmeralda goodness abounds!
1. It Begins

A festival of fools indeed, Frollo thought, glaring out at the crowd gathered in front of him

A festival of fools indeed, Frollo thought, glaring out at the crowd gathered in front of him. each and every person here was dancing about like an idiot, led by the mad "king" of the gypsies, Clopin Trouillefou.

Frollo hated everything about Trouillefou, from the tip of the bright yellow feather in his hat to the stupid little bells on his shoes. Not only did he poison the minds of otherwise innocent children, but he dared stir up the adults into this disgusting little celebration of sin. It was positively sickening how anyone could allow themselves to be mutated into this pitiful state by a common gypsy.

And now Trouillefou dared to touch him? Yes, there he was, dripping confetti all over Frollo's pristine black robes as he clung to his arm, singing about a La Esmeralda who was to dance before the crowd. No matter, Frollo thought disdainfully, brushing the confetti off his sleeve in disgust. A dancer, only more filth to drag this motley collection of vermin even further into the abyss they were falling into. Merely some girl.

Some girl indeed.

The moment Esmeralda appeared onstage, Frollo was entranced by the vision who appeared. The sun gleamed off her bronze flesh and night black hair like flames. Her scarlet skirts whipped around shapely ankles, giving tantalizing glimpses at what lay beneath it. The judge felt the fire within the allure of her emerald gaze scorching into his soul.

In a desperate attempt to tear his eyes away from the witch and allow his soul a chance to resist her spell, Frollo turned to his Captain of the Guard, whose weak mind had already been ensnared. "Look at that disgusting display," he sneered, with little real conviction to his irritation.

"Yes sir!" replied Phoebus enthusiastically. Idiot. He lacked the strong soul necessary to resist the gypsy girl's evils. But then, wouldn't that mean Frollo too was weak?

However, even a man with the strongest of souls would find it impossible to defy what the witch dared to do next. She cartwheeled off the stage, right into Frollo's lap. She bore the heat of the fire from whence she had come, he could feel it even through her dress and his robe… oh, why must these clothes be in his way? She leaned down towards him, pulling him forward with her violet scarf and pressing her luscious lips to his nose. He leaned towards her more in spite of himself, longing to feel Esmeralda's kiss where he wanted it, but she leapt away and jammed his chaperon onto his head, blocking his vision. Enraged, he pushed his chaperon back up and tore the scarf from around his neck as the girl finished her dance by spinning down a guard's pole.

Frollo's breath came ragged as the scene he had just witnessed replayed unbidden over and over in his mind. A burning, sinful emotion that was completely foreign to him filled every fiber of his body. He knew what it was, however, and it terrified him beyond belief.

Lust.

It seemed impossible that he would ever have these feelings for any woman, let along a girl half his age from the race he had waged war on for over years. Yet, there they were, burning flames of desire already licking at his soul, the soul that had until moments ago been purer than anything in this city. He longed to feel her lips against his, to see what lay beneath that red gown, to let his pale, bony fingers caress every supple curve of her body—

"It's the bell ringer from Notre Dame!" came a cry from the crowd, snapping Frollo out of those forbidden thoughts. He rose from his throne in dismay, and sure enough, there was Quasimodo on the stage, even though Frollo had expressly prohibited him from ever leaving the bell tower due to his disgusting deformity. And he had been correct! The crowd was whispering in panic about how repulsive the hunchback was. Frollo felt an enormous surge of satisfaction as Quasimodo attempted to hide his face in his hands. Had he not warned him this would happen? Had the hunchback not been told that normal people would despise him on sight because he was so horrifically ugly?

But Trouillefou dared to warp the minds of the crowd for the hideous hunchback's benefit. "Ladies and gentlemen, don't panic!" he announced, leaping onto the stage to quell the throng's panicked whispers. "We asked for the ugliest face in Paris and here he is! Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame!"

The whole rabble's outlook immediately transformed. The bell ringer was hoisted up into a throne, carried by a pair of gypsies in outrageous costumes, and lauded by everyone in attendance. Everyone, that is, except for Frollo, who still sat seething in his throne, furious at being defied.

First he had been contaminated with the gypsy's curse of desire, then he was forced to deal with Quasimodo's rebellion. Today was just not Frollo's day.

Little did he know that this was just the beginning of a rapid downward spiral, and that it would all begin to get far, far worse.


	2. Defiance

A festival of fools indeed, Frollo thought, glaring out at the crowd gathered in front of him

Frollo had been right after all. Two of his guards had taken it upon themselves to incite the crowd's abhorrence of Quasimodo once more. Now he was tied onto a rotating platform and being turned in the midst of a hailstorm of all sorts of rotten vegetables and pleading for the judge to help him. Frollo turned away. This monstrosity's disobedience must be punished, and what better way to do so than with the public humiliation that had been so inevitable anyway?

"Sir, request permission to stop this cruelty," said Phoebus. Was he blind? Did he not see how revolting Quasimodo was? It was only cruelty if the victim didn't deserve it, and even without his insubordination, the hunchback's twisted face was more than enough to say that he deserved it.

"In a moment, Captain," replied Frollo, a twisted smirk on his face. "A lesson needs to be learned here."

But before it could be, the crowd went silent. Infuriated, Frollo stood to see the cause of the commotion's end. It was the gypsy witch who had cursed him with that evil dance. She had traded the enticing red gown for simpler white blouse that showed off her luscious brown shoulders and a purple skirt that showed just enough leg to turn Frollo's pure mind to the most sensual of thoughts. "You! Gypsy girl!" demanded Frollo, pounding heart making each word choppy as he fought against her spell. "Get down at once!"

"Yes, your honor," said Esmeralda. "Just as soon as I free this poor creature."

"I forbid it!" snarled Frollo. Quasimodo needed to learn that normal people would shun and abuse him, and Esmeralda wasn't helping. She had the audacity to whip a knife out of her skirt and cut Quasimodo's bindings. Of course, in freeing the hunchback, she was most likely bewitching him and plotting some wicked treachery that would lead to his downfall. She was, after all, an depraved gypsy sorceress. "How dare you defy me?" growled the irate judge.

"You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people!" said Esmeralda, who seemed to completely miss the fact that he was merely trying to stop the gypsies from destroying the souls of the innocent. "You speak of justice, yet you are cruel to those most in need of your help!" Gypsies were thieves, murderers, sirens. They needed no help, they needed eradication.

"Silence!"

"Justice!"

She must be commended for her passion. How Froilo longed to tame that wildfire and make it his own…. No. These corrupt thoughts must be fought with all he had! He would never allow her to win over his pure soul.

"Mark my words, gypsy, you will pay for this insolence," Frollo hissed.

"Then it appears we've crowned the wrong fool," retorted Esmeralda. "The only fool I see is _you!" _She threw the ridiculous mockery of the King's crown at his feet as even her pet _goat_ mocked him.

"Captain Phoebus, arrest her!" Frollo commanded.

She escaped. Moreover, she escaped while humiliating and injuring several of his guards with witchcraft and smashing Frollo's tent to splinters. Frollo extricated himself from the fallen cloth, realizing it was too late. He swung himself onto his horse, determined to recover the girl. "Find her, Captain," he snapped to Phoebus. "I want her alive."

He would, of course, give her a chance to recant her wicked ways and come quietly into his arms… and his bed. But none of that could ever be said aloud.


	3. Inside Notre Dame

A festival of fools indeed, Frollo thought, glaring out at the crowd gathered in front of him

Frollo rode through the square, searching for the girl just as his guards were. He would sooner allow this disgusting lechery consume him whole than allow Esmeralda to continue to evade him after debasing his honor. He would arrest her, of course, but she could not be allowed to remain in the torture chamber. Rather, he would have his chance at satiating her spell over him and force her to reap what she had sown. Frollo suppressed a shudder at the though, though whether it was of fright or ecstasy at the unholy thoughts was impossible to tell. He had to find her first, he told himself, more to subdue those terrible fantasies than anything. Where could she be?

He glanced up at Notre Dame and gave a silent prayer for the Lord's guidance, when it suddenly came to him. She would doubtlessly have sought sanctuary within the walls of the cathedral. Well, that would not stop Frollo from capturing her, even if he had to spend weeks praying for forgiveness. "You men," barked the judge. "Follow me to the cathedral. I have an idea." A vicious smile contorted his features as he rode back towards the house of God, flanked by his soldiers.

His intuition had been correct. When the doors of Notre Dame burst open, Frollo saw the witch cornered by Captain Phoebus. His plan was all falling into place. It would be a matter of moments before he could have his way with her. A fiery spasm of excitement writhed within him at the very thought. "Good work, Captain!" he thundered. "Now, arrest her!" Phoebus whispered something to Esmeralda, who hissed something furiously in response. Frollo's raised his eyes heavenward in frustration. Why couldn't the captain just follow orders the moment they were given? Good help was impossible to find. "I'm waiting, Captain."

"I'm sorry, sir, she's claimed sanctuary," said Phoebus. "There's nothing I can do."

Of course she had claimed sanctuary. She truly expected that holy right to apply to a devious pagan? Frollo could have laughed. Not even church rules could stop his plans. "Then drag her outside—" Before he could finish, the Archdeacon of Notre Dame, suddenly came to continue his infuriating habit of meddling with anything Frollo tried to do.

"Frollo!" boomed the Archdeacon. "You will not touch her!" He moved over to the gypsy girl and murmured in a fatherly voice, "Don't worry, Minister Frollo learned years ago to respect the sanctity of the church.

Frollo bared his teeth in a silent snarl before turning towards the door. Unlike his guards, however, he had no intention of leaving just yet. He slid behind a pillar as the Archdeacon and the witch's goat familiar escorted Phoebus outside the church, awaiting the moment when he and Esmeralda were alone in the church. When that moment arrived, he slithered out and twisted the girl's arm behind her.

"You think you've outwitted me, but I am a patient man," Frollo hissed, a shiver shooting up his spine at how close his lips were to her succulent flesh, "and gypsies don't do well inside stone walls." Gravity pushed one of her dark curls down towards his face, giving him a whiff of the most luscious aroma he had ever smelled. He pressed his nose into the tangled jungle of her hair, desperate to smell more of that intoxicating aroma which brought to mind all manner of deliciously heinous acts. Standing this close to her and inhaling that dizzying scent allowed her to set flames within him to torch his soul to ashes. There was a moan of longing on his lips, but it died the moment Esmeralda spoke to him.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was tinged with hatred and disgust. Good. She had brought this on herself, and so she had every minute of discomfort he caused her coming. Unfortunately for her, he was far from finished.

"I was merely imagining a rope around that… _beautiful_ neck," Frollo murmured against her hair as he caressed her neck. The skin of Esmeralda's throat was so soft and warm against his fingers…. He started to move his hand lower before she elbowed him in the stomach, forcing him to let her go with the sudden shock of surprise and pain.

"I know what you were imagining," snarled Esmeralda.

Frollo blinked, allowing himself a moment to rebuild his defenses against her spell. "Such a clever witch," he said, smirking, as his eyes continued to rove hungrily down her body. "So typical of your kind to twist the truth to cloud the mind with unholy thoughts." And not just her own mind. Her entire vile race existed to cloud innocent minds with unholy thoughts, and she had taken the lethal step of clouding the mind of the _Minister of Justice!_ But it was time to focus on the matter at hand. He would not have her this moment, the Archdeacon had seen to that. However, he would bide his time until he _did_ have her. "Well, no matter." He stepped away from her, towards the cathedral doors. "You've chosen a magnificent prison, but it is a prison nontheless. Set one foot outside, and you're mine!"


	4. Delirium

A festival of fools indeed, Frollo thought, glaring out at the crowd gathered in front of him

**A/N: This part contains a couple of scenes from the book, including one that's kind of violent. It's nothing too bad because I fail at writing, but just in case, I'm warning you. On the plus side, everyone's favorite song is in this chapter, too!**

The moment Frollo returned to the Palace of Justice, he hastened to his chambers. In Notre Dame, the last of his will had slipped away, and he knew that without some intensive prayer, he would be no more than one of her victims, tortured to madness and death by her spell. He managed to hold his composure together all the way up the stairs so that his guards didn't become suspicious. However, once he had entered the bare room with the enormous crucifix overlooking the even larger fireplace, he fell apart.

Frollo stood by the window, gazing down at the sunshine gleaming off the roofs of Paris without seeing them. A bottle of holy wine stood on the mantle beside a silver goblet. After consuming a cup of the blood of Christ, he searched his soul, desperate for some last shred of purity, something that could keep him from burning in this obsession.

All he found was Esmeralda. His soul had been utterly contaminated by the most impure of thoughts. She hung from the chains in the torture chamber as he allowed his hands and eyes to rove over her body. He felt his lips press against hers as she fell lifeless into his arms. He saw her writhing naked against him, moaning in agony as complete as his desire.

This last phantasm brought the corrupted priest back to reality with a sharp cry. Icy sweat ran down his pallid face, and it was a moment before he realized that he had collapsed to the ground. He finished the wine, hoping the power of Christ would exorcise this demon, but it only served to make one reality more clear. She was repulsed by him, but he wanted her more than even he could fathom. Perhaps it was because of all he had done to her race, or some abhorrent reluctance to allowing her victims to touch her in ways she forced them to desire.

If it was the former, what would have happened, then, if she had not been a gypsy and he had not been the Minister of Justice? There would have been a life of peace and love for both of them, yes, she would have loved him as much as he loved her. A happy pair of lovers strode far below him, hand in hand, and Frollo had to cling to the windowsill to keep from collapsing in anguish. That could well have been he and Esmeralda, if the Lord hadn't been so cruel as to keep their lives so dissonant.

No matter what Frollo wished, she was a gypsy, and she had cursed him with a spell of deranged love that would never be satiated. There was but one punishment for such a sinful display of witchcraft: death. This unholy demon must be sent back where she— no, it belonged for the good of all innocent men. If he found himself in such a state after her evil dance, what would happen to men weaker and less pure than he? And only by her death could he ever find his salvation from this most egregious of sins.

Night had begun to fall. In the bloody light from the setting sun, each window seemed to carry within it its own portal to Hell. Every voice audible from the palace corridors and the streets below the window was the shriek of a yowling demon. Frollo turned away in terror, turning towards the cross above his fireplace. Its polished wooden face, too, gleamed in the dying sunlight. To the priest's demented mind, that gleam became a physical blow… his rejection by the Lord. Another cry escaped his lips, mingling with the echoing footsteps of Satan as He came ever nearer to dragging the judge with him.

A shining silver dagger lay next to the empty bottle of wine on the mantelpiece. A demon flew from the smoke of the fire and pressed it into Frollo's hand. "Take it…" it cajoled in a whisper. "Only your pain can return your purity." Without realizing it, his cassock had been torn open, and the demon guided his hand to create deep, cruel slashes across every inch of his aberrant flesh in the hope that this punishment would be enough to free him of the gypsy's curse. The spirit vanished, cackling diabolically, leaving Frollo lying, sinful as ever, in a pool of his own blood. Shaking, he stood and turned towards the window, staring up at the stars, positively begging the Blessed Virgin for release from this horrific suffering.

"Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man," he began, voice trembling with the horrors he had been forced to witness. "Of my virtue, I am justly proud. Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd. Then tell me, Maria, why I see her dancing there, why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul." He turned to the fire, drawing back in fear as the gypsy appeared to torment him further. He felt a burning heat against his collarbone, and drew the scarf she had left him with from within his cassock, gazing at it as the memory of the festival became inflamed once more. "I feel her, I see her, the sun caught in her raven hair is blazing in me out of all control!" He drew his arms around his body to protect himself when the fire spirit blew him a kiss. It was to no avail. That kiss set the inferno within him ablaze, searing his soul with a wave of white-hot debauchery. "Like fire, Hellfire, this fire in my skin," he rubbed the scarf against his cheek, imagining that it was the lovely, profane flesh of its owner lightly stroking his face, "this burning desire is turning me to sin!"

Frollo fell to his knees, twisting the scarf in misery and terror. The firelight flickering on the walls transformed into a roomful of red robed judges, there to condemn him to the fiery pit. He stood and ran as quickly as he could, but they were everywhere. "It's not my fault!" he pleaded desperately. "I'm not to blame! It is the gypsy girl, the witch who sent this flame! It's not my fault if in God's plan, he made the Devil so much stronger than a man!" He dropped to his knees, begging them not to take him, but a wave of flame swept him away to the abyss from whence it came.

The wretched priest stood shakily, frantically appealing to Mary for salvation. "Protect me, Maria, don't let this siren cast her spell! Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone! Destroy Esmeralda, and let her taste the fires of Hell!" At that moment, the smoke from the fire formed into the shape of Esmeralda, floating towards him. He opened his arms and leaned towards her eagerly, but the moment his lips touched hers, she vanished. "Or else let her be mine and mine alone…." Another knock on the door brought Frollo out of his fevered hallucinations with a start.

"Minister Frollo," said the guard gravely. "The gypsy has escaped."

"What?!" snarled Frollo. He had her cornered, guards at every door! He must have heard incorrectly.

"She's nowhere in the cathedral," said the guard, shrinking back to avoid the judge's anger. "She's gone."

He had heard correctly. "But how?" Frollo demanded, massaging his temples as though to entice a sane thought from his mind. "I— Never mind. Get out, you idiot! I'll find her! I'll find her if I have to burn down all of Paris!" The door closed, and the red-robed judges and Esmeralda appeared once more, as though they had been waiting for their chance to continue tormenting him. He would have her. Whether it was on the stake or in his bed, he would have her. "Hellfire, dark fire, now gypsy, it's your turn! Choose me or your pyre! Be mine or you will burn!" The judges closed in on him, and he realized how even he would suffer either way she chose. If she refused, the woman he loved was dead, and he couldn't bear the image of her burning in Hell no matter how much he wanted it. "God have mercy on her…." If she chose him, all he had ever lived for as a priest was to go up in smoke. "God have mercy on me!" He took a deep, steadying breath and glared at the judges defiantly. "But she will be mine or she… will… BURN!!"

Then the world went black.


	5. Frollo's Obsessive Search

A festival of fools indeed, Frollo thought, glaring out at the crowd gathered in front of him

Frollo moaned in pain as the sunlight roused him, feeling like the excruciating fires he had suffered through the night before. His head was pounding so violently, it seemed that he was a blacksmith's anvil, with a hammer being struck repeatedly against his skull. It took the tortured priest what seemed like years to summon the strength to stand.

The gypsy had done this to him, no doubt. Clearly, she hoped to keep him from giving chase by keeping him in debilitating physical agony. He would never allow her wicked plans to succeed, however. He dragged himself to the carriage that waited outside of the palace to take him to his soldiers.

"To the square, sir?" asked his coachman. Frollo's confirmation was little more than a groan, but too quickly, the carriage was rattling along down the cobblestones. It was a marvelous relief to pull up in front of his saluting guards and have the infernal vehicle cease its grueling motion.

"Good morning, sir," said the Captain as the judge stepped from within the coach. Frollo only moaned in response, massaging his throbbing temples as Phoebus's voice grated against his shot nerves. Phoebus raised an eyebrow. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I… had a little trouble with the fireplace," Frollo replied weakly, taking a breath to steady himself as he stepped gingerly down the carriage stairs towards his horse, which had been brought for him by a guard.

"I see," said Phoebus skeptically. "Your orders, sir?"

"Find the girl!" demanded Frollo without the slightest hesitation, mounting his horse, which whinnied and tossed its head as if in agreement. The small army was off, off to terrorize countless homes with the accusation of harboring gypsies. They wrenched up trapdoors hidden in the floorboards of houses and shoved caravans into the river. They set buildings aflame in hopes of smoking out any of the filthy creatures who may have been lurking within. Each time, the gypsies the search turned up would be chained and offered a reward for any information on Esmeralda's whereabouts. No one ever had an answer, and soon Frollo's torture chambers were filled to capacity with their disgusting like. Ordinarily, the judge would have been pleased, and each of them would be executed on the spot. However, since he had been maledicted by the gypsy girl, circumstances were far from ordinary, and he was too preoccupied to order the deaths of the others.

"Where could she be?" snarled Frollo, more to himself than to anyone. A guard rode up to him, dangling some sort of amulet from his hand as though afraid that if he touched too much of it, it would burn him.

"Sir, we found this in front of the miller's cottage," said the guard, saluting. Frollo smirked and signaled for the soldiers accompanying him to follow.

Frollo knocked on the door of the quaint home of the miller. The fat, balding man gasped and went stark white upon seeing who his visitor was. "Judge Claude Frollo!" He sank to his knees, clutching at the hem of the unforgiving priest's robes.

"We found this gypsy talisman on your property," said Frollo coolly, dangling the amulet in front of the miller so that it was clearly visible. The miller's eyes went wide, and he gave a visible tremor. "Have you been harboring gypsies?"

"Our home is always open to the weary traveller. Have mercy, my lord!" begged the miller, but his pleas fell upon deaf ears. His fear had already proven to Frollo that he was, in fact, guilty.

"I am placing you and your family under house arrest until I get to the bottom of this. If what you say is true and you are innocent, then you have nothing to fear." Frollo motioned for his guards to leave the house, then swept out of the miller's filthy grasp, slamming the door shut and barring it with a guard's spear. "Burn it," he snarled to Phoebus.

"What?!" _Why _must all his guards be so incredibly stupid, Frollo thought, annoyed. It was a simple order, really, even if it was ordered in the throes of utter madness.

Utter madness… she had him.

"Until it smolders," Frollo clarified, passing a torch to Phoebus. "These people are traitors and must be made examples of."

Phoebus still had that moronic shocked expression on his face. "With all due respect, sir, I was not trained to murder the innocent." Never mind the fact that they weren't innocent at all. Had they not been keeping at least one wicked gypsy unharmed on their property? Perhaps it had even been the girl he wanted to get his hands on so badly. No, this would not be "murdering the innocent."

"But you were trained to follow orders!" snapped Frollo. Phoebus glared daggers at Frollo and doused the torch in a water barrel.

Frollo bared his teeth in rage. "Insolent coward!" he snarled, snatching a torch and touching it to the miller's thatched roof. The flames exploded to life as quickly as if they had been set by an erupting volcano rather than a mere torch. The sounds of panicked shouts and a baby's cry joined the roar of the flames in a mellifluous cacaphony of justice being served to a family who sorely needed it.

Unfortunately, Captain Phoebus still hadn't grasped that simple fact. He had the nerve to dive in through the window and kicked the door open, the miller and his wife behind him, their two children in hand. Having had just about enough of all this disobedience, the judge signaled for his guards to grab him, and Phoebus was struck over the head with the hilt of a sword. "The sentence for insubordination is death. Such a pity. You threw away a promising career," sneered Frollo, glaring down at the disgraced ex-captain from atop his horse.

"Consider it my highest honor, sir," said Phoebus as the guard who had it him poised the sword over his neck, ready to rend the captain's head from his body. Before he could, however, a stone flew from nowhere, startling his horse into bucking Frollo off. Phoebus punched the two guards and swung himself onto the black steed, fleeing as fast as he could.

"Get him!" snarled the enraged priest, "and don't hit my horse!" The guards obeyed, and Phoebus was beset with a torrent of arrows. As he dashed across the bridge, one of these became imbedded into his shoulder, knocking him from the stallion into the raging, vicious waters of the Seine. The guards hastened to the bridge to pelt the captain with more arrows until Frollo gave the signal to stop. "Don't waste your arrows! Let the traitor rot in his watery grave." He turned away, satisfied that the traitor lay dying in the wild river. "Find the girl! If you have to burn the city to the ground, so be it!"

As the procession rode into the burning square, a guard from another search party approached Frollo. "Sir, we've looked everywhere, and still no sign of the gypsy girl."

"I had the entire cathedral surrounded," hissed Frollo in irate disbelief, "guards at every door. There was no way she could have escaped." He looked up at the smoke swirling around the cathedral, hearing the bells of Notre Dame ring even through the firestorm that had assailed the city. She had been imprisoned there mere hours ago, with only the priests and the miserable hunchback to help her. Wait….

"Unless…."

It was time to pay a visit to his dear foster son.


	6. Losing Control

A festival of fools indeed, Frollo thought, glaring out at the crowd gathered in front of him

The moment Frollo set foot in the bell tower, he could tell Quasimodo was trying to hide something from him, and he had no doubts it was about the gypsy girl. "M-master, I didn't think you'd be coming!" the hunchback stammered as he hurriedly straightened his model of the city.

"I'm never too busy to share a meal with you, dear boy," replied Frollo, affecting a fatherly affection that he had never truly felt for the hideous creature. "I've brought a little… treat." He dropped a picnic basket filled with grapes on the table. He smirked inwardly to himself— the grapes would no doubt get the boy to open up, even if he was stupid enough to dare hide anything from him. Sitting down, he place his chaperon in his lap and cleared his throat to remind Quasimodo, who had been staring vapidly at the basket, of his duty to retrieve the table settings. The judge noticed that he was fumbling around and breaking dishes, clearly preoccupied. "Is there something troubling you, Quasimodo?" he asked, his tone filled with false concern.

"No, no!" lied Quasimodo, mismatched blue eyes darting everywhere but at Frollo's cold dark ones.

"Oh, but there is," Frollo pushed, with the tiniest of patronizing winks. "I know there is."

"Oh, no, Master," the hunchback stammered, "there's nothing—"

Frollo cut him off. "You're not eating, boy."

Quasimodo immediately shoved the majority of his bunch of grapes into his mouth. "'svewygoo fankoo," he said with his mouth full. A low moan sounded from under the table, and Quasimodo moaned as though it would still be effective to mask the sound despite the thirty-second delay. Frollo raised an eyebrow. Something fell to the floor, and the priest could hear it despite the bell ringer's sudden coughing. "Seeds," Quasimodo explained lamely.

How stupid did the monster think he was? wondered Frollo. "What's… different in here?" he asked, surveying the wooden model of Paris.

"Nothing!" Quasimodo exclaimed quickly. "… sir."

Frollo ignored him and lifted up a figurine… a dark-haired, dark-skinned, purple-skirted figurine with a tambourine. Even when made of wood, she lit his heart aflame. What had she done to him? "Isn't this one new?" he asked, examining it. His voice was carefully light and even, though his frustration with the hunchback was reaching boiling point. "It's awfully good… looks very much like the gypsy girl." He glared hard at his foster son as the struggle to keep pretending she hadn't driven him absolutely insane was lost. "I know… you helped her ESCAPE!" His face was positively animalistic as his wrath fell upon Quasimodo. "And now, all Paris is burning because of YOU!"

"She was kind to me, master!" Quasimodo squeaked in a tiny voice as he struggled to escape his master's homicidal rage.

"YOU IDIOT, THAT WASN'T KINDNESS, IT WAS CUNNING!" Frollo roared, grabbing the hunchback by the shirt. Figurines and the splintered remains of tiny wooden houses scattered across the floor as he smashed the table to bits. "SHE'S A GYPSY! GYPSIES ARE NOT CAPABLE OF REAL LOVE! THINK, BOY! THINK OF YOUR MOTHER!" Quasimodo cowered as Frollo loomed over him, teeth bared, eyes popping. He cleared his throat to compose himself and straightened to his knees, stroking his foster son's hair back as though nothing had happened. "But what chance could a poor, misshapen child like you have against her heathen treachery?" he mused as he stood and gathered his hat and basket. He slipped a knife from within his robes and stabbed it through the middle of Esmeralda's wooden likeness. "Well, never you mind, Quasimodo. I will free you from her evil spell. She will torment you no longer."

"What do you mean?" gasped the hunchback, still terrified from the judge's psychotic eruption.

"I know where her hideout is, and tomorrow at dawn, I attack with a thousand men." Quasimodo sank hopelessly to the floor, and Frollo descended the stairs, smirking all over his pallid, wrinkled face. In truth, he didn't yet know her whereabouts, but if his assumptions were correct, Quasimodo did, and he would lead him straight to her.

"Your orders, sir?" asked a guard as he returned to his army.

"Wait here, out of sight," Frollo snapped, mounting his horse. "When the bell ringer comes out of the tower, we will follow, and then the gypsy girl is ours." A soft, evil chuckle escaped his throat. All his plans were coming together, and it was only a matter of time before his imminent victory was accomplished.

Mere moments later, Quasimodo and Captain Phoebus— who, Frollo realized with a stab of rage, had apparently survived the wound from the arrow— came out of the cathedral and set off towards the Court of Miracles. The guards started forwards, but Frollo held them back. "Wait a moment. We don't want them knowing we are behind them." When they were far enough ahead, Frollo gave the signal and they set off.

"A graveyard," remarked Frollo, smirking as the hunchback and the traitor unwittingly led them to the cemetery where the gypsies no doubt were hiding. "It is almost as though they know what awaits them." The guards began to laugh as well, but Frollo barked, "Silence!" and silence fell. His victims made their way down a set of stairs hidden in a crypt, and Frollo grinned his twisted, malicious, skull-like grin. "You men," he hissed as he dismounted his own ebony steed, pointing to a small group to the left. "Remain here with the horses. The rest of you, follow me." And they made their way down through the catacombs to the Court of Miracles, where the gypsies waited like rats in a trap, completely oblivious to the danger they were all in.

"… It may not exactly show, but we're grateful," he heard Esmeralda say. Her voice alone was enough to send a rush of white hot longing through Frollo's body.

There was a brief pause, then he heard Phoebus. "Don't thank me, thank Quasimodo. Without him, I would never have found my way here."

"Nor would I!" boomed Frollo, stepping from the shadows as the gypsies screamed and were siezed by guards. He grinned and surveyed his good fortune. "After twenty years of searching, the Court of Miracles is mine at last." He stepped towards his foster son. "Dear Quasimodo, I always knew you would someday be of use to me."

"What are you talking about?" hissed Esmeralda, jewel-like eyes narrowed in deepest loathing.

"Why, he led me right to you, my dear," Frollo replied, caressing her soft brown cheek lovingly. She wrenched away from his touch.

"You're a liar!" she snarled.

More to save what was left of his sanity than anything, he turned to Phoebus. "And look what else I've caught in my net. Captain Phoebus, back from the dead… another 'miracle,' no doubt." His twisted smirk widened. "I shall remedy that." He turned around like a large black bat to address every one of his prisoners.

"There'll be a little bonfire in the square tomorrow, and you're _all_ invited to attend. Lock them up."


	7. In the Dungeon

A/N: And now, I bring you… my favorite scene in the book, Disney-fied

**A/N: And now, I bring you… my favorite scene in the book, Disney-fied!**

Esmeralda was thrown into the Palace of Justice's deepest dungeons, where there wasn't but the slightest strip of light shining through the tiny window in the door. Frollo was pleased to see this when he made his way down to visit her, for it meant that his guards knew just what to do with such a dangerous sorceress of a prisoner.

"You," she snarled, when he locked the door behind them. She strained against the chains binding her to the wall as he approached her, desperate to attack the man who had forced her to taste what she had had coming for so long.

"My dear Esmeralda," said Frollo, smirking as he approached her. "Why would you think for a moment that you could curse a holy man with unholy thoughts of you and not suffer the consequences?" He gently stroked her bronze cheek, and she pulled away in disgust.

"Curse?" Esmeralda repeated, with a bitter laugh. "If I could have cursed anyone with 'unholy thoughts,' I wouldn't have chosen you."

"But you did!" snarled Frollo. "And ever since, I have not been able to forget for a moment the fire you scorched me with at that Festival. I have vainly tried to purify myself with prayer, and with the consumption of the blood of Christ. And look!" He opened his cassock to show the deep, half-healed scars that traversed his chest. Esmeralda closed her eyes and looked away from him, and he concealed his pain once more. "Do you see how I have suffered? The mere thought of you drove me to do this to myself! I saw you dance in my fireplace, I writhed before such excruciating visons… I am going mad without you, my Esmeralda. I dream ceaselessly of what it would be like to press my lips to yours, to feel your body against mine… for you to know the pitiable extent to which I love you."

Esmeralda was staring at him with her mouth open, eyes wide in horror and abhorrence. Frollo's dark eyes narrowed and he snatched her by the shoulders, robbing her of the little motion the chains allowed her by pressing her to the wall. His face was close to hers now, and he was vaguely aware that he was panting. "Hear me," he hissed imploringly. "If you come from Hell, I will go with you. I am condemned no matter what, but allow me to be condemned by your side. If you would but consent, I will free you from this dungeon, and you will live. Refuse, and in mere moments, you will be burnt at the stake! Choose, my dear… the tomb, or my bed!"

Esmeralda lashed out with the only part of her body unrestrained by priest or chain— her feet. She caught Frollo in the stomach, and he doubled over in pain. Fire blazed in his eyes as he glared back up at her, the rejection stinging more than the blow itself.

"Nothing will ever unite us," Esmeralda growled. "Not even Hell!"

"Very well," Frollo replied. "Then die!" And with the slam of the dungeon door, Esmeralda was left alone.


	8. And He Shall Smite The Wicked

A/N: And now, I bring you… my favorite scene in the book, Disney-fied

Frollo could hear the drumbeats as his carriage pulled up to the platform on which he was to perform his duties. Esmeralda had already been carried here and tied to the stake, where she stood, eyes darting around at the crowd, most of which was pleading her innocence and begging for her release, and at the gypsies, packed in cages awaiting their own turn to be the guest of honor at this "little bonfire." These pleas fell upon deaf ears as the executioner piled wood at the gypsy's feet, and Frollo glided up to the platform and unrolled his scroll, barely concealing a smirk. At last, the witch would answer for her egregious sin, and he would be free!

"The prisoner Esmeralda has been found guilty of the crime of witchcraft," he announced over the increasingly vehement protests of the masses. "The sentence… death!" Smirking, he leaned forward to her. It was the custom for a priest to receive a prisoner's final confession at the stake or the gallows, but this request was far different….

"The time has come, gypsy," he hissed. "You stand upon the brink of the abyss… yet even now, it is not too late. I can save you from the flames of this world and the next. Choose me, or the fire." He smiled, awaiting her response. Surely she would be sensible and choose life over death… but she didn't.

She spat in his face.

Enraged, Frollo wiped the saliva from his cheek, and continued addressing the crowd. She had made her choice, and, if her demise was the only way to free himself, so be it. "The gypsy Esmeralda has refused to recant! This evil witch has put the soul of every citizen in Paris in awful jeopardy!" The crowd once again flared up, imploring Frollo to save the "poor gypsy dancer's" life because she supposedly had done nothing wrong. Idiots. Could they not see that her dances were filled with the most unspeakable diablerie? "Thus, she has been sentenced to burn at the stake in the very fires from whence she came! For justice, for Paris, and for her own salvation, it is my sacred duty to send this unholy demon back where she belongs!"

The executioner handed Frollo the torch, and he gladly touched it to the wood. Esmeralda shrank back against the stake in horror as the flames began to lick at her body. Frollo's grin looked positively Satanic through the smoke and the heat haze… but before he could really enjoy his salvation, an inhuman cry sounded through the whole city from above.

"NO!"

"Quasimodo!" snarled Frollo. The bells of Notre Dame rang furiously as the hunchback shook the entire cathedral to break his chains and swing down on a piece of rope to untie Esmeralda, who had lost conciousness. How dare that miserable creature ruin the judge's one last chance at deliverance from this lecherous curse?

"SANCTUARY!" yelled the bell ringer, holding Esmeralda's lifeless body above his head in front of the stained glass window. "SANCTUARY!" The crowd cheered, and the monster was gone, vanished into the depths of the cathedral. That was when Frollo's remaining sanity finally snapped.

"Captain!" he barked. "Seize the cathedral!" Finally, the good side of having absolutely brainless guards showed itself— they had no idea when Frollo's orders were being given by a demon who had taken over his body and his mind. They hurried to block the doors, crossing swords in front of the very Archdeacon, who had come outside to see what in God's name was going on.

Suddenly, a large beam fell from the heavens in front of the guards and the corrupted judge, scattering the soldiers like ants and smashing his carriage to smithereens. Frollo stared at the fallen beam and what remained of his wagon in disbelief for a moment only before becoming, if possible, even more irate and deranged than before. "Come back, you cowards!" he roared to his guards. "You men! Pick up that beam! Break down the door!" He hastened to the front door of the cathedral, sword drawn for effect as he demanded more and more out of his soldiers.

He was only dimly aware of the gypsies' escape and the raging battle between his soldiers, the citizens, and Quasimodo… until the latter hurled molten lead down upon the streets, pouring a cascade of fire inches from Frollo's face. The guards ran, but at least they had left a large enough hole for Frollo to make his way into the cathedral safely, with but a few strikes of his sword to dispel the few remaining shards of wood in his path.

However, this stroke of luck was met by another aggravation for, as usual when Frollo was about to complete one of his arcane goals, the Archdeacon appeared from nowhere. "Frollo, have you gone mad?" he demanded in his booming voice. "I will not tolerate this assault on the House of God!"

By this time, Frollo was too far gone to care that that doddering imbecile was simply looking out for his immortal soul— had it not already been mutilated beyond repair? "Silence, you old fool!" snarled the deranged priest, hurling that infuriating nuisance to the ground. The Archdeacon gazed up in shock and horror as Frollo stormed up the stairs to the belltower. "The hunchback and I have unfinished business to… and this time, you will not interfere!" Seething, he locked the door inside and watched the hunchback's jubiliance from behind a wall as he slipped a dagger from within the folds of his cassock.

It didn't take long, however, for the bell ringer to realize that Esmeralda wasn't responding. The demon that had taken Frollo over cackled triumphantly, but Frollo could not celebrate. He forced his face into solemnity and hid the knife behind his back as he approached the hideous creature, who was now weeping miserably over Esmeralda's corpse.

"You killed her," whispered Quasimodo hoarsely, when Frollo touched his hump soothingly.

"It was my duty, horrible as it was" Frollo replied, his calmness and compassion sounding horribly insincere even to his own ears. "I hope you can forgive me." The hunchback was silent except for a few more shuddering sobs. "There, there, Quasimodo, I know it hurts," murmured Frollo, as he started to reveal the dagger. "But now, the time has come to end your suffering… forever!"

Finally, the knife moved through the air to do what he meant to do twenty years previously and rid the world of that obscene perversion of nature that had profaned the church with its very existence. Unfortunately, Quasimodo saw the knife and, with a gasp, snatched it with his massive hands. Frollo struggled for a brief moment to regain control over the weapon, but the hunchback's brute strength proved too much, and he found himself on the floor, pinned to the wall by a knife-wielding monster.

Even possessed as he was, Frollo knew this was not good.

"Now, now… listen to me… Quasimodo," he faltered, almost begging as the hunchback brandished his weapon.

"No, you listen!" cried the bell ringer hysterically. "All my life, you've told me that the world is a dark, cruel place! But now I see that the only thing dark or cruel about it is people like you!" No matter how upset Quasimodo was, however, Frollo had to be thankful for one thing— he threw the dagger aside. The judge highly doubted that the creature would have had it in him to kill anyone, let alone the man who had raised him, but it was relieving to have all skepticism removed. However, for every stroke of luck, there was an stroke of misfortune.

"Quasimodo?" came a weak voice from the other side of the room.

"Esmeralda!" cried the hunchback happily, running over to the sorceress sitting up on the bed.

Frollo's eyes went wide in horror. No. The witch was dead! He had killed her and purified himself, he was sure of it! But apparently he had been wrong, and he could not absolved himself of his sins quite yet. "She lives!" he gasped, unsheathing the sword he had belted at his side, hidden behind his voluminous black robes.

"No!" yelled Quasimodo, grabbing Esmeralda and hurrying off to the balcony to protect her.

The next few moments were a blur to Frollo, who had now lost every remnant of sanity that he had until now clung so desperately to. He was vaguely aware of the way he was swinging his sword into the gargoyles as he missed the hunchback and the gypsy witch, and had only a indefinite knowledge of how he revealed that he had been the one to kill Quasimodo's mother. The demon was in control as he threw his cape over the bell ringer's head and nearly hurled both of them off the balcony. Finally, some barely intelligable words reached Frollo's ears, hardyl recognizable as his own voice.

"And He shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit!"

That was when he came back to his senses, but it was too late. The gargoyle he was holding to broke away from the cathedral— he could only assume that he had cut through it when he had been blinded by the dementia the sorceress had cursed him with. The terrified priest scrambled to regain hold of the cathedral, but it was to no avail. He hurtled hundreds of feet into the molten lead that that infernal hunchback had seen fit to pour into the streets. Frollo screamed as he broke the surface the lake of fire. He watched helplessly as his flesh went from white to pink, to angry red, and finally to black, before the hand of Satan finally dragged him away to spend an eternity of torment in the depths of Hell.

**A/N: That's all for this fanfic! Hope you enjoyed it!**


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